


Help me help you

by knightinpinkunderwear



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, Brain Damage, Hallucinations, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Losing Time, M/M, Memory Loss, Mind Control, Not A Happy Ending, Not Canon Compliant, Season/Series 05, Self-Hatred, Self-Worth Issues, destruction of haven, the brain chip
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-03
Updated: 2020-04-03
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:14:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23363785
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/knightinpinkunderwear/pseuds/knightinpinkunderwear
Summary: "something early season 5" Requested by mistress0fyoai on tumblr
Relationships: Lucius Fox/Edward Nygma
Comments: 2
Kudos: 18





	Help me help you

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MistressofYaoi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MistressofYaoi/gifts).



> this came out a bit more angsty in the end then I anticipated

It only took seven (or was it eight?) weeks to find Lucius Fox. 

Two weeks to figure out that his losing time was not due to poor health or sleep, or the trauma of coming back to life. (Since he was fairly certain he died...next to Lee... after she stabbed him and he stabbed her). 

The third week he realized he wasn't sure who _he_ was anymore. He didn't feel quite like the Riddler (though that personality was far from consistent) and he didn't feel like plain, dumb Ed. 

Week four he started hallucinating again, but it wasn't a reflection or an echo of himself or some perverse personality. They were images he didn't know, yet somehow felt familiar. (Leather gloves against the trigger of what might be an assault rifle or a rocket launcher, it was too blurry to tell).

Five weeks to realize there was no apparent pattern to his missing time and the locations he woke up in. Other than them all being outside in some sort of ruin or mess. 

Six weeks to realize there weren't other personalities in his head...That he felt like one unified being. (It had been a long time since that last happened).

Seven to realize that he needed help. He didn't know what was going on, what he did while he was blacked out. He'd never sleepwalked before and didn't have any family history of it. 

The eighth week he decided that Lucius Fox was his best and only bet for any actual help. (Gordon and Bullock would rather hit him with a car, he'd betrayed Oswald last time they saw each other, he didn't even know if Lee was alive and also he stabbed her, and Barbara was almost never helpful). 

(So it was eight weeks after all...he thinks).

He remembers when he first became the Riddler; when it was just a ploy to find how to keep living without Oswald in his life. When it was all so new and everything was to cover up the ache and conflicting feelings. 

He remembers trading riddles and answers with a patient Lucius Fox. He remembers the sincerity and concern in the man's voice, how he wanted to help, for Ed to get help. 

He wasn't ready then, he didn't think he needed it. 

Now he is, and he does. 

Edward Nygma needed help and frankly, Foxy was the only one he could trust to not take advantage of that. 

Lucius was a good man, a good person, he didn't lie or trick people, playing on their insecurities. 

Better late than never, right? 

Sneaking into the "green zone" is pretty easy, though he supposes that he is similar to the refugees he snuck in with, he was also looking for help, just not the same kind.

Out of concern for his own well-being and the desire to not screw the opportunity for actual well-meaning help up, he knocked on the door (a lifetime ago this was his workspace...he'd needed help then too).

"Come in, I'm just looking through the water filtration blueprints," wow, it was nice to hear a friendly voice.

Lucius doesn't look up until he's fully in the room, carefully shutting the door so as to not interrupt the man. (It squeaks worse than it ever had when Ed was still in the GCPD employ).

"Mr. Nygma, to what do I owe this visit?"

"Remember when I held a gun to your head in your car?"

Foxy raised an eyebrow, unimpressed and puzzled as to why that time they met was being brought up.

"You were right, I needed help, I was spinning out of control; hallucinating and taking drugs to hallucinate more."

"It's a little late for that," Lucius comments, casual. It's not a refusal, he has a _chance._

"I came to you because you're the only person who sincerely offered help, and also the only person I trusted that I haven't stabbed or poisoned or shot or framed for murder,"

"I hope that means that you don't want to cause me harm," he said, taking off his reading glasses, folding the arms then folding up the blueprints on the desk in front of him. (The desk is somehow different than when Edward worked here, not that he minded, it was a kind of shitty desk before).

"I don't mean you harm, but I can't account for my actions,"

"How so?"

"Since the bridges blew I've been waking up in different places,"

"Sleepwalking?"

"This morning I woke up in a dumpster with blood on my shoes, 12 blocks from where I went to bed," he started, inhale... exhale... continuing; "I don't know what I did or how I got there, and I think I might be hurting people, I've lost time before but never this much, never this frequent, I'm tired of hurting people, I'm tired of not knowing what I've done, I'm tired of trying to stay up so that whatever-whoever is inside of can't do what it wants,"

"I'm sorry about that, but I'm hardly a psychiatrist, and I'm definitely not a psychologist, I'm not sure how you think I can help," there's real, genuine, concern in his eyes, and patience in his tone, and it _hurts_. Edward knew that this was a long shot.

"I don't know either, lock me up in the bullpen, I don't know, let me sleep in a locked morgue drawer, I don't _know_!" he can't help the quiver in his lip, or how his voice cracks, he can't help the stinging feeling of hopelessness and disgust welling up in his throat, or the burning itchy feeling in his eyes. He doesn't know when he last had a full night of sleep, and he's seeing things.

He hears an explosion, and it's all in his head. And so is the crash, and the screams.

There's someone in the back of his head, calling for help, for mercy, and he doesn't know who.

Then he's in the arms of Lucius Fox ( _oh dear_ those are some guns Foxy is packing, jee whiz!), who is looking at him like no one has in such a long time.

"Hey, Ed, are you alright?"

He nods dumbly, thanking the universe for it keeping him from saying something stupid.

"What happened?"

"Just some regular old auditory hallucinations,"

"You say that like they're normal to you,"

"They are, pretty much any time I'm stressed I hear things,"

"That's not normal,"

"Foxy, I'm schizophrenic, I was diagnosed when I was eleven," he smiled, surprised the man hadn't found his numerous diagnoses in his GCPD employee file.

"Why didn't you get help?"

"I didn't want to feel weaker than I already did,"

"How?"

"Let's just say I had some bad experiences with therapy,"

Lucius lets the subject drop. He isn't sure he even wants to know what experience would be bad enough for someone to not seek out therapeutic help. So many horrible things happened to so many people of Gotham, and that was just considering the time before they were cut off from the rest of the country.

They talk about other things for a while; recent events, the weather, canned peaches.

He doesn't lock Nygma up in the bullpen or in a morgue drawer as the man suggested. But he does convince Nygma that he can sleep, that he won't let him sleepwalk.

And Nygma settles down, looking more exhausted in a ratty old blanket than Lucius feels (and he's been getting only 5-6 hours of sleep a night).

Lucius gets back to work, examining the blueprints and reading up on the water filtration plant, trying to figure out what has been limiting the output of sanitary drinking and bathing water. He watches Nygma out of the corner of his eye, turning to watch him every once in a while to make sure he is still asleep.

Nygma sits up once. With a blank stare and a blank face. It's eerie and uncomfortably uncanny, but it's clear that whoever is sitting there is not any of the personalities Lucius has met before.

In those long moments, Nygma almost resembles a machine or ghost, somehow appearing devoid of identity or personality.

Lucius lets out a sigh when Nygma settles back down to sleep, snoring once again.

He doesn't know what he would have been able to do without hurting anyone or himself, and the way Nygma's blank stare had taken in his surroundings, it wasn't normal, or right.

It felt immature, but he had a hard time sleeping. Even when he was tired and it was the middle of the night. He even briefly considered locking Nygma up while he was asleep, that way even if that wrong version of him showed up again he wouldn't be able to hurt anyone. But that was rude and most likely unnecessary.

In the morning Nygma brings him stale cereal and horrible canned coffee. He offers to help the Green Zone in any way he can in exchange for the tiny chance there might be a doctor taking refuge that can help in some way.

Jim hates the idea. Harvey shrugs and goes to file more paperwork; quote "the world is already falling apart, how much worse can Nygma make it?".

Alvarez doesn't care either way, besides agreeing that Nygma should sleep in a room locked from the outside. The other cops give him dirty looks, but Nygma doesn't seem to notice, acting like that was how he was used to being treated.

And Edward Nygma is surprisingly helpful, with an almost photographic memory and the fact he'd been stranded at a branch of the Gotham Public Library he knew a lot about so many things. But not much when it came to intrapersonal interactions. Not that he was bothering to hide sarcasm or annoyance.

He was pleasant to be around, even if he was having a "diva fit" (coined by Harvey). Besides Lucius, there were a few people who bothered to ask if he was okay when he zoned out or started to seem like he was hallucinating.

Every week he would disappear during the day and show up later, shaking with no idea where he'd been.

But besides that, Edward seemed happy.

He liked being helpful, and the water treatment plant was working better than ever, in theory, the plumbing everywhere in Gotham should be running and clean.

Lucius found himself talking to Edward late into the cold nights.

"Why do you even want to help me? Why didn't you refuse?" Ed asks late one night, a hat covering his horribly cut chin-length hair.

"Atlas personality, I'm forever endeavoring to carry the suffering of the world on my shoulders,"

"Why?" there's a softness to his voice then, strength to his concern. As if he doesn't understand that some people want to punish themselves for no reason, though he doesn't seem to notice that he belongs in that group as well.

"I guess I think that I'll feel less guilty for being alive if I'm helping others,"

"If anyone deserves to live in this damn city it's you."

And that's how Edward makes him speechless, the surety in his voice, the fierceness in his words. And for a second Lucius can believe it too, if only because of how much Ed Nygma does. (And it's ridiculous because he's being taught self-worth by the person who sincerely believes that his life has only harmed others).

And that's when the fondness rears its massive head.

Lucius wished he could stop it, there was nothing healthy about caring about someone who was so determined to destroy himself if it could benefit another (but then again, who was Lucius to talk, he was only a few bad months from doing that to himself).

At least he knows it isn't just him, Edward has a nasty habit of imprinting on anyone who gives him positive attention of any sort. Being treated like a human being is his only prerequisite for developing a crush (which would be adorable if it weren't so heartbreaking).

Things go well. For weeks, then three months.

Lucius has nightmares about the blank stare Edward had given him that first night when he was so obviously not himself.

But he doesn't see them for three months. 

The second and last time he sees that blank gaze is at the destruction of Haven.

Five minutes after the explosion Edward Nygma steps out of a building across from the fires. With dead eyes and a rocket launcher in his hands.

Lucius can't move. And his lungs seize up for reasons separate from the smoke.

Someone knocks him out. Blood comes down the side of his face.

And that's how Lucius finds the stitches. Encircling his scalp, hidden by long, greasy hair.


End file.
